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I'm guessing I saw this 1977 TV movie one time when it was first aired on CBS. Which puts me at age 6 or so. "Once Upon a Brothers Grimm" made a huge impression on me, though I didn't see it again for another 25 years. What stuck most in my memory was the very strong premise: the famous Grimm brothers are on a long journey when their carriage halts outside an enchanted wood, through which their driver refuses to travel at night. They carry on without the driver, become separated in the woods, and stumble through a number of famous fairy tales. (Remember that this came a full decade before Stephen Sondheim's "Into the Woods.") And the sequence that stayed most vivid in my memory over the years involved the 12 dancing princesses and the swan princes. It was certainly one of the sparks that gave me a lifelong interest in fairy tales.

Looking at it now, 30+ years since it was made, the film carries a lot of late 70's baggage. It has a number of those peculiar stars of the era recognizable--to kids who grew up then--by their appearances on the Muppet Show or their voice work in the Smurfs. And, yes, there's a faint haze of Hollywood Squares about the production. However, look past that, and there is something worth preserving. As the leads, Dean Jones and Paul Sand are a great duo. Jones, as always, sells his scenes 100 percent, and Sand matches that with true gusto. Probably the most noteworthy appearance of a supporting actor is that of Teri Garr, as a princess seeking a princely frog. To contemporary eyes, the film goes a bit off the rails a few times, but never more so than during Chita Rivera's surreal solo. But, in fact, most of the musical and dance numbers are surprisingly well conceived and executed. For kids 8 years old and under--assuming they haven't been ruined by the production standards of modern TV and film--this should remain a unique treat.

"Cinema is the ultimate pervert art. It doesn't give you what you desire; it tells you how to desire."

So begins "The Pervert's Guide to Cinema," in which Slovenian philosopher and psychoanalyst Slavoj Zizek applies his Freudian/Lacanian brain-scalpel to world cinema. This film in three parts is the second feature documentary directed by Sophie Fiennes (yes, sister of Ralph and Joseph), and it is a notable accomplishment, clocking in at 2 1/2 hours of talk from one man and yet remaining humorous and engaging throughout. In essence, it is an extended film lecture, and one of the best you may ever get. Over the course of the film, Zizek guides us through a catalog of obsession and desire in film history. He touches on more than 40 films and, in particular, spends a great deal of time with Hitchcock, Lynch, Chaplin, Tarkovsky, the Marx Brothers, and Eisenstein. But he also takes a close look at "Persona," "The Conversation," "Three Colors: Blue," "Dogville," "Fight Club," and "The Exorcist." Thematically, Zizek's inquiry into cinema ranges from thoughts on the death drive to the "coordinates of desire," and from Gnosticism to "partial objects."

"The Pervert's Guide" will be a slightly better experience if you've taken a few minutes to bone up on your basic Freudian terminology. However, even if you're not steeped in psychoanalytic theory, Zizek's dynamic and hilarious personality carries the film forward with such gusto that you aren't likely to balk at the specialized lingo. The film frequently cuts from movie clips to images of Zizek *inside* the movie he is talking about--that is, in the original locations and sets. The transitions in these sequences sustain such tension and humor that the trick never gets old. And Zizek himself is constantly making us laugh, either from bizarre little jokes or from his enthusiastic insistence on, for example, a bold Oedipal interpretation of "The Birds." And this go-ahead-and-laugh attitude, on the parts of both Fiennes and Zizek, is essential to the gonzo character of the film. It is the spoonful of sugar that helps us digest Zizek's weird medicine. After all, don't we all have a sense that, past a certain point, psychology theorists are just pulling our legs?

Be prepared. In Tony Kaye's "Lake of Fire" you will see a portion of an abortion procedure. You will see the dead pieces of a being you cannot simply label "fetus" & thereby distance yourself comfortably from it. You will see crime scenes with the bodies of people executed by anti-abortion zealots. You will also see quite a number of Bible-slappin' loudmouths & pro-choice intellectuals.

Being a pro-life viewer, I must give Kaye credit for allowing 2 moments that are very strong for the pro-life camp. The first comes near the beginning of the film, in which we do actually see the dismembered pieces of that aborted baby. This is echoed later with shots of corpses stored in a clinic freezer. The second moment comes with the story of Norma McCorvey, the "Jane Roe" of Roe v. Wade. Kaye presents McCorvey's story of working in abortion clinics after her trial & later converting to Christianity & completely reversing her position toward abortion. McCorvey's conversion came about through the efforts of a man we see here, a man who, incidentally, is perhaps the single non-wacko pro-life leader that Kaye deigns to show: Operation Save America's Flip Benham.

Other than those two points, all the scoring goes to the pro-choice crowd. Kaye includes as many homophobic, gun-toting, anti-abortion loudmouths as he can find. And he can't hide his own prejudices when he zeroes in on the mouth of one particular windbag & lets it fill the screen while he rants--a technique, it should be noted, that is never applied when Alan Dershowitz is on screen. Here we have pro-lifers who do the cause no favors by opening their mouths, saying for instance that they think blasphemers should be executed, that they've seen Satan-worshiping abortionists barbecue babies right in front of them, etc. And this spectacle goes on & on, with only one answering clang on the Left. At one point we do see a single leftist dork: a woman singer who dances 95% nude during her performance, shoves a coat hanger in her crotch, & mimes giving herself an abortion & eating the baby. We also get to hear this "artist" speak in an interview, & she is stunningly clueless. But that's it for whack-jobs presented on the Left, & we're clearly meant to come away from the film with the sense that the majority of pro-lifers are sub-mental creeps while the majority of pro-choicers are enlightened, brainy people you'd trust to guide public policy.

Nearly all the people interviewed for this documentary use dishonest, loaded arguments: that is, "the Bible says so" (& if you don't believe the Bible, you don't count), or "it's a woman's right" (& obviously the fetus isn't a person, so it doesn't have any rights). The difference is that the people Kaye sought out are primarily intellectuals on one side, and on the other they are primarily uneducated and backwards. The film includes only a few brief seconds of articulate speech on the pro-life side, in contrast with the nonstop barrage of interviews with leftist celebrity intellectuals like Dershowitz, Noam Chomsky, and Peter Singer. Chomsky, who has several PhDs in HairSplitting, gets away here with everything from comparing the religious climate in the U.S. with that in Iran, to raising absurd, overly-clever counterarguments such as his statement that women "kill bacteria" every time they wash their hands (the implication being that killing bacteria is, on some gray scale, morally comparable to killing a fetus). Dershowitz pulls some similar garbage when he says that every time a man & woman refrain from having sex they are preventing a potential human being from being created, & therefore maybe we should have sex 24/7 if we're really going to make God happy. And Singer? Well, he defines murder in terms of "what makes it wrong." That is, murder is killing someone who has the mental capability to wish otherwise, & since a fetus doesn't have the cerebral development allowing him to know what he's missing out on--well, tough. One wonders what Singer might think of killing comatose persons or even victims who are merely sleeping.

Particularly disappointing--& revealing, in terms of the documentary's prejudices--is that almost no effort was made to bring in articulate intellectuals from the pro-life camp. You'll see no Peter Kreeft here, no Frederica Mathewes-Green. And while Kaye gives screen time to a conspiracy theory about "Christian Reconstructionism" & the Religious Right's supposed desire to retake the country & execute anyone who doesn't obey the ten commandments, no similar examinations are made of possible conspiracies on the Left. No mention is made, for example, of Planned Parenthood originating from a scandalous soup of eugenics, racism, & elitist, upper-class paranoia directed at the burgeoning lower classes.

This pro-choice prejudice is seen further in the film's recurring, sledgehammer theme: pro-life = anti-abortion terrorism. Kaye is little interested in portraying anything but the sensationalistic stereotypes of pro-life activists, & the final portion of the film stresses these stereotypes repeatedly. As the film winds down & we follow a woman into her clinic to see the "brave" choice she's going to make & see that she's an emotionally disturbed woman who really shouldn't raise a child, we get an answering bombardament from the Left. The intellectuals that Kaye brought out earlier now return, & we're given a dizzying number of alternative, gray-scale methods for thinking about abortion, methods for making a simple thing more "complex." For instance, Alan Dershowitz says that when it comes to abortion, "everyone is right." This is a pleasant, non-conclusive answer that will not lead to any hasty overturning of laws.

Finally, on a personal note, I was glad I saw this film but can't recommend it. After all, a documentary heavily skewed like this can't be admired for its intrinsic worth. Kaye merely shows us how a film may pay lip service to "fairness" while ending up with a propagandistic message.

"When Strangers Appear" (2001) is just the sort of film I'm a sucker for. It's a tense, neo-Hitchcockian thriller with a crisp, clean visual style, a forceful sense of place, several great suspense sequences, very effective camera work, and one hell of a paranoid mood. The story concerns a young woman who for 48 hours becomes entangled in a mysterious manhunt when her path crosses with the wrong people on the Oregon coast. Or, as I really like to tell folks, it's about a waitress being chased by diabolical surfers.

The film was written and directed by New Zealand director Scott Reynolds. For me his first film, "The Ugly," was close to unwatchable, but then he released "Heaven," which showed a lot of promise. (And with any luck he'll break his 6-year dry spell and bring us something else soon.) Radha Mitchell and Josh Lucas are both very, very good in "When Strangers Appear," as is Kevin Anderson in his supporting role. The film has a few flaws, however. This includes a few too-self-conscious moments and the casting of Barry Watson as Jack, the man on the run. Still, the film is a must-see for fans of tense contemporary thrillers that lie in the shadow of Hitch, or for anyone who's up for the sort of gripping, old-fashioned good time provided by films like "Red Rock West," "Nick of Time," and "Breakdown."

"Cul-de-sac" is Roman Polanski's third feature, after "Knife in Water" and "Repulsion." The movie was filmed in and around a castle on the coast of north-east England that is cut off from the mainland for a portion of every day when the tide changes. Here a pair of wounded, on-the-run criminals invade the castle and impose themselves on the slightly-bohemian couple living there. Like all of Polanski's best films, it truly functions as a showcase for the actors, and the central cast here is Donald Pleasence, Francoise Dorleac, and Lionel Stander—a Brit, a Frog, and an American. There's also a wonderful supporting performance by Irish actor Jack MacGowran. However, it's Pleasance who steals the show. Like Polanski's writing and direction here, Pleasance creates a real tension between realism and delirious mania, thus maintaining a moment-by-moment unpredictability that you simply can't take your eyes off. It's one of the mysteries of cinema history why "Cul-de- sac" has not survived well in the memories of critics nor found a dedicated audience as have most other early Polanski films.

This film looks darned good, and its moody atmosphere is a beautiful thing as well. Unfortunately, Williams relies far to heavily on motifs from Haruki Murakami novels like "The Wild Sheep Chase" and "The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle," borrows a bit too obviously from "Eyes Wide Shut," and steals outright from "Donnie Darko." All of this might have been forgiven if Williams had conjured a gripping story here or something (anything!) of his own that was strikingly original. Sadly, this is not the case. The characters are never very compelling, and the story never manages to build any real momentum. As a result, "Starfish Hotel" is certainly watchable but not memorable.

Contrived, self-conscious, obvious, repetitive, manipulative, heavy-handed, pretentious--apparently these qualities do not count against a film today, at least as far as critics and major awards organizations are concerned. Roger Ebert called "Crash" his favorite film of 2005, and the Academy Awards gave the film more recognition than I would have thought possible--even considering the large quotient of lowbrows in Hollywood today. To put it as kindly as possible, "Crash" presents us with a shockingly manipulative story and treats delicate social issues with all the subtlety of sledgehammer blows. In essence, it is a bad knock-off of John Sayles, and you would do much better treating yourself to a very fine film like the criminally-neglected "City of Hope" (1991) or "The Sunshine State" (2002).

I should make it clear I wasn't disappointed at all in the performances or the look of the film. No, the trouble is something a bit deeper than that. As far as plot goes, there's this strange obsession in "Crash" with making every character experience a major "reversal." Good cop becomes bad cop; bad cop becomes good cop; innocent, victimized Middle Easterner becomes a perpetrator of violence--etc. And you can see all of this coming a mile away. Can Hollywood get any more heavy-handed and contrived than this? Well, let's hope not. Additionally, the movie seemed to be telling us that everyone in L.A. is a super-charged racist forever on the edge, ready to blow his or her top at any moment. Messages like this only serve to simplify social issues in a disastrous manner.

Essentially, "Crash" is classic kitsch: It shows you something for which you, as a product of liberal modernity, have a pre-loaded response. It makes you feel good about not being a racist and about deploring violence. It requires you to do zero intellectual work and then pats you on the back for having the correct ethical orientation toward the subject matter.

Personally, I don't think there's ever a good reason for talking down to your audience, and "Crash" is full of that. This type of story is every bit as bad as, on the other hand, elitist art that is only trying to communicate with a minute, intellectual clique. The ideal situation, I think, is for artists to treat their audience as thoughtful adults, and for the audience, in turn, to behave like thoughtful adults. Throughout "Crash," I felt Haggis was treating me like, at best, an adolescent who can only be impressed by broad strokes and the most obvious, belabored themes. In his book "The Art of Fiction," John Gardner talks about the bad storyteller being like a playwright who wants to run on stage every few minutes during a performance of his play and point out how every story development and technique is operating--and that is Haggis all over. He constantly shows his "puppeteer's hand."

Finally, I'm just getting exhausted by seeing people beating that dead horse of racism, over and over and over, in the media... For my money, a movie director is going to have to come up with a deeper, more ingenious approach if he wants me to listen to more of these preaching-to-the-choir sermons. Thankfully, there are directors like John Sayles who still have the talent to pull it off, and with panache.

Great, sweeping, lyrical shots of the natural world. A passionate but respectful infatuation between the camera's eye and the lovely face of a young beauty we've never seen before. Ever-climbing, harmonious waves of symphonic delicacy. And a powerful, labyrinthine mood built of images that court the eye rather than assail it. These are just a few of the pleasures offered by "The New World." Something to realize, right from the start, about Terrance Malick's new film is that he's telling his story on an abstracted plane and by way of the mythological mode. If just hearing that gives you a headache, then maybe this isn't the movie for you. Otherwise, you're in for a real treat.

Okay, okay... So maybe Pocahontas was a mere ten years old when she saw her first white people and only twelve when John Smith left her and the Jamestown settlement in 1609. Maybe there was no enigmatic, and potentially romantic, relationship between the two. But this is all beside the point. Malick is not interested--and we can be ever so thankful for this--in telling a polemically-oriented story. He's not interested in giving us a dry, by-the-numbers, cinematic regurgitation of fact, or in constructing some historical-revisionist fantasy.

It should be obvious, for anyone paying attention to Malick's unusual filming style here, that this Pocahontas (played by the 14-year-old Q'Orianka Kilcher) is the archetype that has grown out of her legend. Here she is woman-as-land, a rather obvious but effective metaphor. Malick builds onto the metaphor two love stories, each taking as its object this blend of woman and land. The first romance (with explorer John Smith--Colin Farrell) is one of innocence, at least on the part of Pocahontas. The second (with farmer John Rolfe--Christian Bale), by far the more difficult relationship, is a romance of experience. These romances, of course, are what make great myth and great cinema. And like all great legends, this one presents a larger-than-life story yet leaves us to draw our own conclusions from it. But that's art for you--something with which most movies shouldn't be confused.

And how refreshing it is to see a film built from elliptical, intuitive patterns of imagery and soliloquy rather than from a dogged plot or ideologically-motivated pandering. The New World--like Martin Scorsese's "Kundun" or Peter Weir's "Picnic at Hanging Rock"--is that rare thing, a dream you can sink into, a place to momentarily lose yourself in visual and aural poetry.

"Shopgirl"--based on a Steve Martin screenplay, from his short novel of the same name--may fall short of being a perfect film, but it is still terrifically touching. I was already a fan of the novel and found some minor flaws in the film--so it was a little unexpected that the ending succeeded in getting me choked up. But it did, and it's a film I'm sure I'll see again.

Yes, it could have been a bit longer. It could have, at the very least, added 60 seconds to each of a number of high-potential scenes--the very funny (but could have been even better) scene when Jeremy (Jason Schwartzman) unknowingly knocks a telephone off its base, and the "early courtship" scenes between Ray (Steve Martin) and Mirabelle (Claire Danes). Also, more time could have been spent on those elements of Mirabelle's life that form a great part of her identity--her drawings, her monotonous work at Saks, her depression.

In spite of these failings the film succeeds because of its earnest heart. Like Kevin Smith's "Chasing Amy," it manages to tell some hard (almost taboo) truths about sexuality in the "liberated" modern world, about how people hurt each other and themselves while seeking intimate relationships free of any actual commitment. Also, while the story has some moments where the plot mechanics show through a bit too obviously, it is a film that seems content to put heavy emphasis on a mood and on the lyrical dreaminess--the disorienting, overwhelming faith and hope--involved in a love affair.

The cast, if not always flawless, really drew me into the film. Even Rebecca Pigeon, in her small part, steps out and captures a type of character very different from what we've seen from her before. Jason Schwartzman, as usual, is an impish, irresistible goof. Martin makes a good Ray Porter, even if he is just a few years old for the part and had to stretch a bit as he reached for the darker elements in a character who ranges from being very sensitive to being very cold. And despite the relative sparsity of simple, Mirabelle "character moments" in the film, Danes does a fine job with Mirabelle, a young woman who--both in the book and in the film--is something of an enigma not only to the men in her life but to the audience and herself.

This film, minimalist in the best possible sense, is a lyrical study of isolation and loss. Tony Takitani (Issei Ogata) grows up the loner kid of a jazz-playing, loner father. Like his father, Tony masters an art, drawing, and eventually becomes very successful. Early in his adulthood Tony has a few failed romances but never considers marriage until, in middle age, he meets a woman fifteen years his junior, the sight of whom for the first time adds an unshakable pain to his profound solitude.

A long sequence of aged Japanese photographs acts as a prelude to the film, telling in a few minutes the story of Tony's father. This section of plot takes up a much greater portion of Haruki Murakami's original short story, and Jun Ichikawa made a wise decision in reducing it, though utmost respect for the source material is in evidence throughout the film.

And then Tony's story itself begins, and if you are going to fall for this film, you do it then. From start to finish, really, the film is an episodic accumulation of small, deeply-touching scenes tied together by very simple yet evocative piano music and the enchanting voice of a narrator (Hidetoshi Nishijima) whose warm, thoughtful delivery makes one think of some poet of a bygone era.

Tony's courtship of Eiko and his subsequent troubles draw us closer and closer to this sad, beautiful soul until his loneliness finally becomes absolute. Ichikawa solidifies these intense layers of feeling with wonderfully basic techniques: stirring skylines and skyscapes used as backdrops; lovely, tangible environments; and discrete, minimalist camera angles--key conversations shot from behind the characters, over the shoulder, for instance. As a side note, the one film to which I can compare "Tony Takitani" is Laurent Cantet's "L'emploi du temps" (France, 2001), which has a similarly touching minimalism married to the intense inner lives of characters.

I was fortunate enough to see "Tony Takitani" at the 2005 Seattle International Film Festival, and of the films I have seen at the festival over the past decade, this ranks among my favorite three--the others being the 1996 Israeli film "Clara Hakedosha" ("Saint Clara") and 1999's "A la medianoche y media" ("At Midnight and a Half") from South America. I cannot imagine a better feature film to first bring the brilliant writing of Haruki Murakami to the big screen.

Note: Murakami's "Tony Takitani" was first published in English in the April 15, 2002 issue of The New Yorker.

"Seducing Doctor Lewis" (or "La grande seduction") is the story of a remote Canadian community, an old fishing town, hoping to seduce a big-city doctor to move there so that a factory will open and take the town's population of 125 people off of public welfare. Following the precedent of "Doc Hollywood" and "Northern Exposure," the film highlights the attractive simplicity of small town life and makes it almost as irresistible to the audience as it is supposed to be to Doctor Lewis. The film has a couple small, but glaring, conceptual similarities to its predecessors: 1) as in "Doc Hollywood," the doctor is a plastic surgeon--i.e. just the sort of person who needs an adorable small town to straighten out his priorities, and 2) as in "Northern Exposure" the doctor is looking at a limited, 5-year stint in the town, something that seems more plausible than seeing a young doctor dedicating his entire future career to a town of just over 100 people. All in all, "Seducing Doctor Lewis" is the seductive little film it sets out to be, nearly mustering a charm equal to "Waking Ned Divine." And one has to admire the filmmakers for sidestepping the potential clichés that the film's ending could have stooped to. David Boutin, also, plays a very likable doctor, while looking strangely like a Dominique Pinon whose body has been stretched to leading-man proportions.

Though "Death and the Compass" was reworked into a feature from a short project--and shows telltale signs of this--it might have succeeded better if only director Alex Cox had been content to allow the film's sound to come through clearly. The film has some great images and performances as well as funky avant-garde elements to both the visuals and story structure. However, when you're doing all that, you can only get yourself in trouble by also monkeying with the sound; here the dialogue is sometimes garbled, sometimes muffled, and sometimes mumbled (pick your poison).

Based on the Jorge Luis Borges short story of the same name, "Death and the Compass" follows a detective who has chosen an "intuitive" path of detection, finally risking losing himself deep in a labyrinth of speculation as he attempts to guess, second-guess, and out-guess the criminal pattern unfolding before him. Unfortunately the film, largely due to the sound trouble, ends up nearly as jumbled as the story. The film is commendable for its referencing of many other Borges stories, but ultimately it leaves one wishing for a great deal more cohesion.

One can look to Lars von Trier's "The Element of Crime" as a film that was, both in terms of story and stylistic flair, a comparable but far more successful venture. More obviously, one can look to Paul Miller's excellent "Spiderweb," a short film with a sort of "Guy Maddin" feel. "Spiderweb" is also based on Borges' "Death and the Compass" and stars Nigel Hawthorne. It is included on the DVD release of Cox's film (but somehow there is no reference to "Spiderweb" on the IMDb!).

A Massachusetts couple traveling across the country run afoul of modern day brigands and highwaymen in this excellent thriller. The film treads similar territory to "Red Rock West," featuring J.T. Walsh in one of his most menacing roles--and Kurt Russell isn't half bad either as the viewpoint character. In fact the only disappointing thing about the film is that Jonathan Mostow has not gone on to distinguish himself as an a-list director.

The plot rests on a "city folk" paranoia of rural places (aka "fly-over" country) and smells a little bit like "Deliverance," a little like the early Spielberg film "Duel." Throw in some psychological tension a la Hitchcock and a breathtaking climax worthy of John Woo, and you've got yourself one brilliant, unforgettable nail-biter. As a modern, top-notch suspense film that didn't get the attention it deserved, "Breakdown" is in the estimable company of similar films like "When Strangers Appear," "The Trigger Effect," & "Nick of Time"--if Hitch were alive today, he might be making films like this.

When Vincent--a tall, quiet, morose middle-aged man--is fired from his job, he finds himself unexpectedly cut loose from society and set adrift from life as he knows it. Instead of looking for a job, he casually cons some family and friends out of substantial chunks of money in order to support his wife and three children while he spends week after week driving through the European countryside in winter. A subdued but inescapable tension builds for the audience as we continually fail to understand what motivates Vincent to risk so much, and this tension becomes only more profound when we realize that Vincent himself does not understand his actions. "Time Out" is a hypnotically sad story told at a measured, melancholy pace with a haunting musical score that circumscribes Vincent's strange, incomprehensible mystery.

"Bubba Ho-tep" is a low budget movie that went for the B-movie feel on purpose, accomplishing its goal of being a "fine" piece of pop culture weirdness. The story is set in a current-day East Texas rest home and focuses on two residents who believe they are Elvis and JFK--the JFK character just happens to be black, and the rest home also houses a few other crazies, including the Lone Ranger. Elvis and JFK soon learn that an Egyptian mummy--who was stolen from his traveling museum exhibition--has come to life in their neighborhood and is killing the rest home residents by sucking their life force out their backsides (you can harvest a soul through "any major orifice," you know). Eventually, our decrepit heroes realize that only they can meet the mummy in a showdown.

The film is really a clever piece of pop culture mythology, working up hilarious back stories for JFK (Ossie Davis who is recognizable from, at the very least, several Spike Lee films) and Elvis (Bruce Campbell of the "Evil Dead" movies). Campbell's performance is particularly excellent, Don Coscarelli's as director did a perfect job finding the right mood and balance of humor for the film, and the leisurely plot--from Joe Lansdale's original novella--is totally engaging and a cinephile's dream.

`Odd Man Out' portrays life in an unnamed city in Northern Ireland via the unlikely narrative structure of the episodic fantasy--that is, in the tradition of `Alice in Wonderland' and `The Wizard of Oz'; it's quite possible, in fact, that the film influenced Jim Jarmusch's `Dead Man.' James Mason plays Johnny McQueen, an Irish freedom fighter who is seriously wounded early in the film. As he wanders about the city in delirium, Johnny becomes a sort of talisman sought after by several eccentric characters for their own purposes, and he is reduced (or is it, elevated?) to the status of fatalistic symbol. The film presents us with an unlikely, outrageous, and irresistible portrait of an Ulster community, filmed by Carol Reed with delicious visual style. Every frame bursts with some brilliant image--the contrast of light and shadow, stunning camera angles, ingenious special effects, and snow in the night. In my opinion, the film rates slightly above Reed's `The Third Man' and slightly below his underappreciated `The Fallen Idol.'

The young and beautiful but naive Betty Elms (Naomi Watts) leaves her home in Ontario for Hollywood and immediately finds herself mixed up with a mysterious amnesiac woman who calls herself Rita (Laura Harring). Betty has come to tinseltown hoping to become an actress, and, while trying to help Rita recover her identity, Betty crosses paths with film director Adam Kesher (Justin Theroux). Slowly a bizarre love triangle unfolds between the three characters, and Betty finds herself in an inescapable nightmare that may just be of her own making.

After his surprisingly successful experiment with sentimental American heartland drama in `The Straight Story,' director David Lynch returns with panache to the psycho-surreal territory he has claimed as his own. `Mulholland Drive' creates a new neighborhood in Lynchville bordered closely by `Fire Walk With Me' and `Lost Highway,' and echoes of those two films are heard throughout `Mulholland Drive.' Here are eerie archetypal messengers, an illusionist, mysterious puzzles and keys, an inexplicable corpse, malignant evil, and the most terrifying of dreams.

Lynch's cast is, as usual, excellently suited to the strange goings-on. The three leads give subtly nuanced performances and are surrounded at all times by a number of excellent supporting actors. Dan Hedaya and Robert Forster have very small parts, as do Michael J. `Twin Peaks' Anderson, Ann Miller (a veteran of old Hollywood), and Lynch's longtime musical collaborator Angelo Badalamenti--but all of them add a wonderful spice to their scenes. Richard Green as the Magician and Layfayette Montgomery as the Cowboy both create defining and unforgettable Lynch characters.

Two other spectacular features of the film bear mentioning. First is the soundtrack, which does a great deal to enhance the film's mood, from Badalamenti's typically brooding numbers and supporting tunes by Lynch and John Neff to the heartrending performance of Roy Orbison's `Crying' sung in Spanish, a capella, by Rebekah Del Rio. Second is the delicious non-linear plot, evoking inevitable associations with `Lost Highway.' Anyone who had trouble with `Lost Highway,' however, should not stay away from `Mulholland Drive.' While one cannot promise that `Mulholland Drive' will be easier to swallow, comparing the two films will certainly do much to illuminate the exquisite madness of Lynch's method.

Alan Desland is a cultivated English bachelor who has taken over his family's antique porcelain business. On a business trip to Copenhagen, he meets and immediately falls in love with Karin, a stunning German beauty. After only a couple of weeks they marry, honeymoon, and settle into life in Alan's hometown. At first their erotically charged relationship seems like paradise, but this, of course, cannot last. Karin has told Alan virtually nothing of her past, and her dark secret eventually manifests with supernatural trappings and threatens everything.

"The Girl in a Swing" is based on the 1980 novel by Richard "Watership Down" Adams. The film has one thing going for it; the script does an admirable job of lining up and hitting a good number of the novel's main plot points and scenes. Otherwise, this overwrought melodrama has little to recommend it.

There is so much to criticize--from the passionless direction to the insipid soundtrack, awful costuming, and poor casting. Meg Tilly in the role of Karin is particularly troublesome. While she is a fairly attractive woman, she does not project the sort of unearthly eroticism that the character requires. Worse, her muddled, affected German accent obscures most of her dialogue. When Tilly isn't screeching "Alan!" she is mumbling and slurring her most important lines. Director Gordon Hessler does little to salvage things, as he opts to film most of the important supernatural and erotic sequences in one of two modes--either flat or melodramatic.

While very few films adapted from novels can attain the dense subtext of their source material, such a film might at least evoke the essence of the story by establishing a strong mood consistent with the novelist's vision. This film, however, aspires to nothing so worthy. It neither succeeds as an adaptation of Adams' complex novel nor as a worthy cinematic effort in its own right.

The excellent documentary "Through Joy and Beyond" addresses the life, career, and religious conversion of author, Christian apologist, and Medieval and Renaissance scholar C. S. Lewis (1898-1963). It follows Lewis from his boyhood in Belfast, through his school years, military service in W.W.I, two professorships, transition from atheist to orthodox Christian, writing and publishing career, and finally to his happy, though brief, marriage late in life to Joy Davidman.

Rev. Walter Hooper narrates as the film visits various locations, doing a brilliant job of visually documenting--inside and out--the physical locations where Lewis lived (from the family home in Belfast to The Kilns, where he spent the last decades of his life) and taught (Magdalen College, Oxford and Magdalen College, Cambridge), as well as giving brief glimpses of such legendary places as The Eagle and Child Pub where the Inklings gathered for their famous literary and theological discussions. Hooper's narrative is occasionally somewhat stilted but receives the support of Peter Ustinov, who acts as the voice of Lewis. Ustinov reads, throughout the film, several carefully chosen passages from Lewis' personal letters and autobiography, "Surprised by Joy."

If "Through Joy and Beyond" (produced for TV in 1979) looks and sounds significantly dated, this is no real detraction. Rather, the film stands as a worthy example of biographical documentary long before the days of The Biography Channel. The film will undoubtedly be a memorable experience for any admirer of Lewis who is not already heavily steeped in his personal history.

A young woman is being stalked by a devious lowlife who tries to make her think she's losing her mind before he reveals his full plans. Fortunately the woman has the kindly priest-sleuth Father Brown to solve the mystery for her.

"Sanctuary of Fear" plays to the typical American made-for-television mystery formula of "Perry Mason" and "Murder She Wrote," and does so poorly. While the mood of the film is mildly promising at the start, it is all downhill from there... all the way to the preposterous and laughably melodramatic denouement. Worse, the only actor who shows talent in the entire film is Barnard Hughes as Father Brown.

One wonders why the filmmakers even bothered to invoke G. K. Chesterton's Father Brown character for this film. They have transported the good Father from England to New York, made him an American, and left not a single recognizable personality trait. Nor does the story contain even the smallest attempt at a metaphysical subtext of the sort common to Chesterton's stories. Was Chesterton's character so popular in the late 1970s that it would draw any kind of audience among television viewers, and would that audience have been satisfied with this drivel?

Best friends Enid and Rebecca graduate from high school and find themselves forced to enter the real world. Enid (more than Rebecca) is a counter-culture rebel who hates this world of frauds and losers, and she subsequently has trouble getting and keeping a job. One day the girls decide to play a prank on a lonely middle-aged loser named Seymour. Their plan backfires, though, and Enid becomes a little obsessed with the man. First she feels sorry for Seymour, then he becomes something of a hero to her, and she resolves to help him at least find a girlfriend. "Maybe I just can't stand the thought of a world where a guy like you can't get a date," she tells him. Meanwhile, Enid seems to be avoiding the challenge of getting her own life started.

Terry Zwigoff ("Crumb") directs this film based on a script by Dan Clowes, who also created the original comic book. "Ghost World" attempts to be a kitsch-free, counter-culture coming-of-age film, and for the most part it succeeds. The characters are very believable, honest, and engaging. The downbeat Seymour is played wonderfully by Steve Buscemi, and Thora Birch in her striking performance as Enid follows up her "American Beauty" role with another discontent but sympathetic misfit teen character. Perhaps the greatest disappointment in "Ghost World," however, is that Scarlett Johansson as Rebecca is marginalized midway through the film. Regarding the story: It is debatable whether the film is entirely free of kitsch. As with "American Beauty," the sudden romantic opportunities which fall into Seymour's lap smell suspiciously of middle-aged wish fulfillment. Also, one might ask for a slightly tighter ending, as the film finishes without much resolution--except for one rather simple but touching scene between Enid and Seymour. On the whole, however, the film is a delight, producing some very memorable characters to whom, in the end, the audience will be sorry to say goodbye.

Sissi works as a nurse at a mental hospital and encounters a depressive army veteran, Bodo, when he saves her life during a traffic accident that he himself caused. When Sissi is released from the hospital, nearly 2 months later, she is obsessed with Bodo and tracks him down. However, Bodo is battling some inner demons and wants nothing to do with her. It would be best if Sissi could leave it at that and walk away, since Bodo and his brother are planning a dangerous heist. But, of course, Sissi and Bodo's fates are now inseparable, and they must walk their joint path to the end.

"The Princess and the Warrior" is director Tom Tykwer's fourth feature and follows the great international success of "Run Lola Run." With the current film, Tykwer turns away from the visceral, kinetic energy of "Lola" and attempts to pull off an urban epic. Unfortunately, the film moves at the pace of a glacier and lacks any sort of emotional or narrative focus. The main characters spend most of their time wandering around in a confused daze, somehow managing to cause more problems than they solve. Also, the story is built on two ridiculous coincidences, leaves numerous loose ends, and climaxes with a dramatic twist that is one big cheat on the audience--a sort of gutless, faux "Thelma and Louise" moment.

And what is the message of the film? What is the line that will haunt you for hours afterward, possibly causing indigestion? "Get off the toilet!" Well, there's nothing like scatological sentimentality to bring a truly cathartic end to a failed epic.

A hat is removed from the top of a head which bears a long, dark wound down the center. The camera rushes into this wound to reveal a black rat and its writhing litter of offspring. Slowly a story unfolds without a single word of dialogue. An elderly psychopath hunts young women, kills them, and removes various features from each. Flashbacks tell a parallel story of a boy who lost his mother in a similarly brutal fashion. The psychopath seems to be killing in order to somehow set right this childhood trauma. However, two things will complicate his plan: a troublesome rat which lives in the walls of his home, and a second party of psychopaths which are also stalking young women.

The initial moments of "Le Rat" seem to promise a cinematic experience as wildly unpredictable as "Un Chien Andalou" or the work of David Lynch. Indeed the opening sequence displays imagery which seems heavily influenced by both Lynch's "Eraserhead" and "Lost Highway." However, instead of seeking to evoke a unique mood through imagery or using the surreal in service of expressionism, directors Christophe Ali and Nicolas Bonilauri simply choose a grotesque subject and attempt to elevate it through film tricks, muddling the subject matter to make it appear more complex. They fracture the narrative and contrive a succession of baroque visuals to disguise what is essentially a ridiculous and incoherent story.

Karel is husband to a childless and melancholy wife, Bozena. One day he cuts down a tree and pulls the stump out of the ground with his own hands. Karel finds that the stump is shaped surprisingly like a small human figure. After a little pruning and a coat of varnish, he presents it to Bozena as a joke. Much to his horror, she adopts it as her own child. They take the creature home to their apartment and hide it from the neighbors. Soon, however, the creature begins to behave like a growing child and acquires a voracious appetite. A curious young neighbor girl, Alzbetka, becomes concerned when she realizes that the scenario is described, in detail, in her book of fairy tales.

In "Little Otik," or "Otesanek," Jan Svankmajer continues his recent and surprising trend to give more screen time to straight live action scenes, using his moments of stop-motion surrealism as a side dish (or dessert, as in "Conspirators of Pleasure") rather than as a main course. The surreal sequences are excellent, if few and far between. Unfortunately, Svankmajer seems reluctant to show Otik in his full glory later in the film. This is disappointing not only because the audience is denied the typical indulgence in Svankmajer's plastic artistry, but also because the film rests entirely on the problem of Otik's appearance. There is really nothing else to drive the story. As usual in a Svankmajer film, the characters are fleshy puppets, and the plot is incidental--neither element is able to provide the film with any narrative momentum.

Running over 2 hours, "Little Otik" is by far the longest of Svankmajer's features. It is also tells a very linear story and manages to be his most accessible film. Unfortunately, though Svankmajer teases us with inspired moments, he allows his story to drag, and it never quite transports us to the sort of hidden, magical world achieved in "Alice" and "Faust."

In 1778, a Portuguese cartographer and naturalist, Diogo, takes part in an expedition to the interior of South America. Almost immediately, the Portuguese are shown attacking a party of bathing female Guaicuru natives, raping and then killing them. Only two natives are spared: a young white boy who has grown up among the natives and Anote, the woman raped by Diogo. The Portuguese eventually reach a walled mission, and the expedition's captain is berated for endangering the peace treaty Portugal is attempting to establish with the natives. At the mission, Diogo sets about courting Anote, and the threat of Guaicuru revenge seems forgotten by all.

"Brave New Land" is both a frequently beautiful and gruesome film created as a tribute to the Guaicuru Indians (portrayed in the film by primarily non-actor natives of the Kadweu tribe). The beauty of the land and of native customs are displayed well, as are the brutality of the Portuguese invaders and the often shocking native rituals. We observe the natives performing ritual bloodletting and learn of their practice of killing all offspring after the firstborn. The latter is done, we are told, because Guaicuru mothers are accustomed to fleeing for their lives at a moment's notice, and they can carry only a single child with them. All such disturbing native practices seem grounded in necessity, unlike the Portuguese brutality.

The filmmakers have decided to translate via subtitles only the Portuguese speech, leaving the audience ignorant regarding the content of Guaicuru conversations. This of course casts the audience into an uncomfortable association with the Portuguese. The character the audience is meant to identify with is Diogo. Though Diogo is a rapist and a coward, he also shows a certain tenderness to Anote in some later scenes. Anote, however, forgives him much sooner than the audience will, and here lies the fundamental trouble with the film: The story's conflict is entirely black and white, the audience is forced to dwell on the daily activities of the wrongdoers, and the religious and cultural positions of the Portuguese are heavily manipulated in the service of irony. Films like this which are essentially addressing racism or genocide can often only invoke rage and indignation without achieving a complexity which takes the issue to a new place (as is done, for example, by "American History X"). It could be said that Diogo's character displays at least nominal complexity. However, in truth, Diogo is just as flat and uninteresting as the other Portuguese, and he remains an unsympathetic coward throughout the film.

One of the nicest moments in the film is the beautiful frame piece at the end, which does a fine job of defining the story as a document of Guaicuru history. At that moment we can believe that there is real and significant value in this sad tale for the native people of South America, and perhaps now that such a story has been told, surviving tribes like the Kadweu will experience a measure of healing.